


Still here

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 04:50:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19845946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	Still here

The morning after the (not) end of the world is quiet.

It feels quiet despite Aziraphale's singing in the kitchen.

It feels calm and tender - the way the first rays of sunlight wake him up and he opens his eyes to the familiar ceiling of his bedroom and adjusts his ears to the unfamiliar reality of hearing the angel sing.

_He stayed._

Crowley closes his eyes again and breathes.

The kettle is boiling. The two cups in Aziraphale's hand cling against each other as he sets them onto the counter. The toaster beeps and Aziraphale's bare footsteps move across the kitchen tiles.

Crowley gets up.

When he enters, the kitchen's drowning in all shades of gold sunshine.

There in the centre of it, Aziraphale's in Crowley's shirt and sweatpants, making breakfast, singing quietly to himself.

"You are still here."

Aziraphale gasps and turns around, the song dying in his throat.

A faint blush appears on his cheeks as their eyes meet.

"You could have warned me."

Crowley fights a smile as he steps closer. He can't quite believe he has the angel here, in his flat, in his kitchen.

He crowds him against the counter.

Aziraphale's hand travels to Crowley's cheek and lingers there while he brings their mouths together.

Chocolate. Aziraphale tastes like hot chocolate in winter. Both sweet and warm.

"I missed you in bed."

Crowley says as he winds his arms around Aziraphale and leaves Aziraphale's lips for his cheek, his neck, his shoulders.

Aziraphale huffs a laugh.

"It's been fifteen minutes, love."

"Exactly," he mouths into his collarbone, hands sliding beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.


End file.
